Money and Bathrooms

As hard as my life is now, I'm hanging on -- and seeing improvement. Last night, for example, I had dinner with friends at my favorite restaurant (Sandbar in Cold Spring Harbor). During the three-hour meal, I made $52,000. Really!

One of my larger stock-holdings is Netflix (NFLX). The company released third-quarter earnings at 6 pm and instantly soared 12%. Between appetizers and dessert I made a tidy profit.

Dinner was delightful and our conversation was charming. The only downside was midway through the meal when I needed to use the  bathroom. Eager to display my new independence I declined assistance and ventured off by myself. The restaurant was dark; my vision is only half as bright as it used to be and I wandered, wandered, wandered. Eventually I asked staff and they pointed in directions but that didn't help; I couldn't see the door even when standing in front of it. During my expedition I visited the restaurant's basement and didn't find a restroom there either. 

As tough as this was it was still better than my experience at the Rock (the arena where the Devils play). My friend Charlie led me to the bathroom entrance and I went inside. After doing my business I looked for a way out and couldn't find one. I couldn't see any opening in the white walls and circled around and around inside the large room. Eventually Charlie realized something was wrong, came in and rescued me. 

I want to be as self-sufficient as before but impaired vision presents some obstacles. At least I'm trying -- and making money while I eat. 

Friday the 13th

Today is Friday the 13th. Friday the 13th! In October, the spookiest month of the year! Are you superstitious? 

Fortunately I don't suffer from  paraskevidekatriaphobia (fear of Friday the 13th). I took a long walk this morning, crossed the busiest street on Long Island several times and rewarded my courage with a hot cup of java at a distant Starbucks. All without incident. No problems at all. I'm sure your day will go smoothly too.

While I have you, can I share something? Let me begin by saying I try to be joyful. I try to spread happiness in the world. Something was bothering me and I reflected on it during my walk. I've decided to spin the experience around, deplete it of distress and try to adopt a healthy attitude. Let me know what you think.

When facing mortal peril our emotions become super-charged. Small gestures possess heightened importance. A single kind word feels like a mountain of support. The opposite, however, is equally true.

Almost all of my friends (like you!) have offered sympathetic words during my ordeal this year. I appreciate that more deeply than you realize. Your support lifted me out of despair so dark I can't even describe its pit. Learning I have friends, hearing they care re-connected me to life. I was teetering on a cliff where all prospects were possible, including falling off.

That's the good news. 95% of my friends lived up to the label and receive huge credit and appreciation from me. 

There are, however, a few who did not offer support. The 5% who disappeared. I reached out to them seeking to include them in my journey and discovered they don't want to hear about it. Or from me.

I understand I'm an acquired taste and not everybody wants to be my friend. I accept that. But dumping me when I'm suffering seems cruel. These are people I thought were friends -- certainly I treated them as such -- so their rejection at this moment hurts. I don't know what shambolic thoughts these folks have (maybe they're afraid blindness is contagious) but their coldness felt awful.

After considering this I've just decided to let it go. I have plenty of friends willing to accept gifts I offer; I needn't worry about a few who don't. Their retreat from my life is no longer a concern.

I hope your Friday the 13th is smooth sailing. :)

Helping Out

I believe in helping others. Artists in particular, for two reasons.

First, their journeys are hard. Society doesn't reward or even compensate most artists for their work. They struggle simply to be able to continue in their efforts.

Second, art is a social good. A gift to humanity. We should acknowledge that. If others don't I will.

Through friends I recently became acquainted with a young glass-blower in Ohio (Ian). He's been pursuing glass for a few years and is very ambitious in his artistic goals. Ian hasn't achieved any success yet but that's okay; public attention is fickle and not a judge of merit.

Ian posted online that his car was recently broken into and the thief took all of his valuable glass-blowing equipment. Ian needs to replace the equipment to keep working but lacks funds. I contacted him privately, offered to help him purchase new equipment and mailed a check that he received today.

I can't think of a better use of that money.

(P.S., I'm not identifying Ian's last name to keep this private.)

A New Hockey Season

I'm back, baby!

Last night my friend Charlie and I traveled to New Jersey and watched the NJ Devils beat the NY Rangers 5-2 in an exciting game. The Devils skated fast and sharp; the Rangers less so. A new hockey season is starting and, after last year's breakout success, the Devils are serious contenders. They've won all of their first six games so far. Plus, there's nobody else to root for in New York sports right now -- the Mets and Yankees failed to made the baseball playoffs; the Jets and Giants in football look awful.

Honestly I was unsure what it'd be like to watch hockey with my new visual impairments. Fortunately none of them interfered. And it was thrilling to join 18,000 other people and jump up when the Devils scored. The atmosphere at the Rock was electric with gleeful fans, colorful lights and blaring sounds. Charlie helped me safely navigate the crowd and we had fun. 

A few months ago I worried this type of experience was lost to me. But it's not; it's just harder. Rewards make the effort worthwhile.

It's Over

This post starts sad but turns upbeat.

I just reached a terrible decision: to stop riding motorcycles. For months the prospect of this tore me up; I couldn't accept it even as its inevitability became manifest. My eyesight simply isn't good enough to ride safely anymore. Hell, I can't walk alone in a crowd, how can I pilot a dangerous vehicle in busy traffic?

Motorcycling has been central to my life for 25 years. A core activity and the source of many joys. After learning how to operate the basics in 1997 I took several MSF training courses to improve my riding skills. Later I graduated to sportbikes capable of high speed and nimble handling, hitting 140 mph at the racetrack. Equally pleasurable I expanded into long-distance touring. I traveled everywhere on my bikes, even carrying a tiny tent and camping in the woods. Best of all I met dozens of interesting new friends. Despite vast differences in background we easily bonded over our common passion. Through motorcycling I discovered a whole new world. But you already know this from my frequent accounts here of two-wheeled adventure.

Motorcycling gave me what I craved when I needed it. During the second half of my adulthood (ages 40-65) riding was a sumptuous feast I consumed voraciously, always putting a smile on my face. Who'd want that to end?

After much deliberation I've finally come to peace with this situation. It isn't really a decision at all but simply recognition of facts. The only choice I face is how to react to the news. I can't get better eyesight.

Instead of despair I'm choosing to be grateful for the wonderful life I had on motorcycles. I was lucky to incorporate them into my life and enjoy a glorious, 25-year riding career. Let's focus on that, not sadness.

In the best movie of all time a middle-aged man (Rick) fell in love with a beautiful woman (Ilsa) during WWII. They spent marvelous time together in glittering Paris. Suddenly, however, Ilsa left Rick with no explanation. Rick was crushed by the cruel loss of love. Years later Ilsa returns to Rick's cafe in Casablanca. She approaches Rick but he's in terrible pain. Rick rejects Ilsa's overture with bitter hostility. Ilsa finally explains to Rick why she left him; it's a story of patriotism that Rick ultimately accepts. He re-considers his view of their past and realizes he should build a new future for himself without her instead of remaining stuck in howling agony. The film ends with Rick and Ilsa parting again, only this time Rick is in good spirits. He tells Ilsa: "We'll always have Paris," referring to their enchanting love in that city before fate split them apart.

I'll always have motorcycling. I will carry it in my heart forever. I appreciate what riding gave me even as that now ends.

"Re-calibrating..."

I don't know about you but every morning when I wake up I have to re-calibrate my attitude after assessing my situation. Here are my realizations and responses:

Still blind -- Damn

Not totally blind -- Yay, I guess

Today's gonna be hard -- Ugh. But at least I'm not dead

This dialogue happens every day. My mind needs to do it because, in dreams, my vision is perfect. Asleep, my brain hasn't caught up to reality. Then I open my eyes and it spins up-to-speed.

Perspective

Bad things are unbearable

until they aren't.

We get used to new situations

no matter how hard.

Expectations about life

adjust like a thermostat

controlled by someone else.